


I Didn't Wash My Hands

by Magik3



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Clitoral Legs, F/F, Non-Human Genitalia, clits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2018-12-15 20:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magik3/pseuds/Magik3
Summary: Before getting back together with Kitty Pryde, who does a demon sorcerer/Queen of Limbo date? Spiral, of course!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place before my Days of Future Middle-Age series where Kitty and Illyana are back together, and after the events of Uncanny X-Force (2013). It's about five comic book years after that (so well into our future), when Illyana is in her mid-30s and nobody really knows how to calculate Spiral's age. 
> 
> The New Xavier Institute is back in upstate New York and Illyana has a magic sanctum on the grounds for research, well away from the main buildings.

  
A beep on the intercom and a scared voice trying to pretend they weren’t scared said, “Magik, uh, Spiral’s here for you … again. With a box or something. Should I … um?”  
  
“She can teleport in. The area around the door is clear.”  
  
A moment later wisps of cosmic energy unfurled from nowhere and produced Spiral, holding a modest-sized wooden box. She was in light gray jeans, knee-high boots and a six-armed white tailored shirt. I hoped she’d thanked that tailor because making a six-armed shoulder joint look simultaneously powerful and refined under a layer of cotton/spandex blend was beyond impressive.  
  
“You look great,” I said.  
  
“And you look … singed?”  
  
“It’s just acid spit. Are you opening that or am I?” I asked, pointing at the box still in her hands.  
  
“It’s that book you wanted.”  
  
“Oh, then put it over there. Without opening it, if you would.” I pointed at a shelf that held a few of the other artifacts she’d brought. Every time random X-People ran into something arcane and I was busy, they called Spiral. She brought it to me. She said Dr. Strange was too obtuse.  
  
These days, I enjoyed hanging out with Strange. I remembered when I used to be afraid of him. Now we had in-jokes. But not ones I could explain to Spiral. So she brought me magic things and I determined how dangerous they were, catalogued them into the computer, passed them on to Strange if he needed to see them.  
  
Except the last one she’d brought me hadn’t been some otherworldly thing. It was just an old medallion that she’d enchanted to help guide teleporters. I’d been meaning to ask her about it, but now that she was here again, I couldn’t figure out how.  
  
Instead, I nodded toward the boxed book she was placing on the shelf. “Where did you find it?”  
  
“I asked around.”  
  
“What do I owe you?”  
  
Spiral shrugged. “I kind of wanted to see the inside of it.”  
  
“You’ll have to come back. It takes a lot of prep,” I told her.  
  
I was cleaning up my work station. Putting everything in its place, dispelling any trace magic. She stayed between bookcase and door, facing the bookcase, but I couldn’t tell if she was actually looking at anything on it.  
  
She knew how to be still and silent. I liked that. I’d been thinking I kind of wanted to do something together, but nothing we had in common gave itself to positive cooperative activity: sword-fighting, killing, teleporting, being villains or demonized or whatever. I didn’t even know how she felt about movies, considering she’d been in some as a stunt person before being kidnapped and turned nonhuman and all. So that left dangerous magic. Fun!  
  
“Do you want to come back when I’m ready?” I asked, writing numbers on a slip of paper. I held it out to her. “This is my phone. Text me so I’ve got yours and I’ll let you know. Then you can just port down here and not have to deal with the newbies at the door.”  
  
“Thanks,” she said, taking the paper. And then she was gone.  
  
I liked that too.  
  
I didn’t exactly rush the preparations, but I prioritized them. Parts took a day or two as I created the wards and had to let them set.  
  
When I was ready, I told everyone to stay well clear of my sanctum. No matter what. Times like these are why my sanctum is way out from the main buildings. And I had a fail-safe that would alert Strange if everything went sideways.  
  
I texted Spiral with a time. She showed up promptly.  
  
“There’s a small chance that the book will eat us,” I warned her. “And by small, I mean about seventy percent.”  
  
She chuckled and asked, “Physically?”  
  
“More likely magically.”  
  
“Twisted psychic trance style?”  
  
“Yes. But if that happens and we can’t find the way out, Strange should come get us out eventually. Just, don’t lose your mind, okay?”  
  
“Presuming I have one to lose?” she said with a wink.  
  
Of course the book ate us and Spiral turned out to be better at navigating a magical twisted psychic trance than I was. No matter how weird it got—and I mean demon-clown-funhouse-mirrors-doppleganger weird—she’d grab my arm and pull me toward a direction that eventually turned out to be the right one.  
  
When we saw the exit portal in the distance, I asked, “How are you doing this?”  
  
“I practice Tibetan Dream Yoga and I’ve taken more than my weight in hallucinogens over my lifetime. For short, focused periods of time, I’m pretty good at knowing what’s real. What I don’t understand is how you can do more damage with one big sword than I can with six medium ones.”  
  
I grinned and said, “Magic.” And we hewed our way through an army of bizarre creatures to the exit.  
  
Back in the lab, our bodies had collapsed when the book sucked us in. I was slumped against my worktable and used it to pull myself up. Spiral got off the ground slowly and shrugged her shoulders back into a better alignment.  
  
She said, “Well, you sure know how to show a girl a good time.”  
  
I laughed. “Maybe you should come around more often.”  
  
“Maybe I will.”  
  
#  
  
The next time Spiral texted and I was in my sanctum and said “come on over,” she arrived holding a small, tattered-looking black cat.  
  
I said, “I’m not that kind of lesbian.”  
  
Eyebrows raised, she replied, “It’s not my cat.”  
  
I went cold inside. “There’s no animal experimentation here.”  
  
“Just look.” She turned the cat around, showed me where it was missing a leg. “I want to build it a metal leg. It’s my kid’s cat. My powers aren’t designed to not hurt. Can you help me figure out how to mod this furball without causing pain?”  
  
“Oh yeah. Easy. Let me put something soft on my work table and I can charm it while you do the mods.”  
  
I found an old blanket, folded it up. The cat had definitely seen better days.  
  
“So, you have a kid?” I had to ask because … whaaat?  
  
“She was a street kid. We adopted each other about five years ago. She starts college next year, does a lot of programming. I like to think that’s from hanging out with me.”  
  
“Cool. What’s the cat’s name?”  
  
“Trombone,” Spiral said.  
  
“Right.”  
  
We worked in silence for a bit and then she asked, “Can I put on music? Something to think to?” She got out her phone, flipped through an app and found a low trance beat, vaguely Indian but also maybe jazz? I nodded and she left it playing.  
  
I held Trombone’s head, stroking her fur as I worked the charm into her: peace, mild sleep, painless. Spiral touched the leg stump and it opened like a flower. The bone and veins and skin grew out as metal, tiny delicate filaments and parts.  
  
“That’s beautiful,” I said.  
  
She startled, stared at me. Slowly, carefully, grinned. “You’re serious?”  
  
“It’s like Warlock. You’re making living metal. How does it translate to the nerves? What energy medium?”  
  
She blinked at me for a long time, hard to read with her all-white eyes. And then she explained it while I asked questions.  
  
In the middle, one of the hapless barely-mutant assistants that Kurt kept insisting on hiring opened the door. “Kurt wants to know if you … oh god what is that? Oh hell, shit, damn, no fucking way.”  
  
The door shut. I rolled my eyes and Spiral laughed. Pulling my phone closer, I hit the button for Kurt and put it on speakerphone.  
  
“Kurt, and there’s a freaked out newbie headed your way. What did you send him for?”  
  
“Primarily to test him. But he was supposed to ask you if you want wings or Chinese.”  
  
I looked at Spiral.  
  
“Chinese,” she said.  
  
There was a pause on Kurt’s end. I added, “Spiral’s with me. We’re modding a cat. It’s okay, trust me.”  
  
“So,” he said. “That shrimp thing you usually get and what does Spiral want?”  
  
“Sichuan Dan Dan noodles with pork if they have it. Otherwise anything with noodles, meat and spice. Thank you.”  
  
By the time the food arrived, Trombone was in pretty good shape and half awake. I learned that if you have six arms, you can eat your dinner neatly with chopsticks while holding and petting a cat, and still have a free hand to pick up your drink or napkin.  
  
I was thinking about what else you could do with six hands.  
  
#  
  
She came back a few days later with a dog.  
  
“How many pets do you have?”  
  
“This isn’t ours. When Ginny saw the work we did on the cat, she asked if we could help the neighbor’s dog. He’s got a tumor.”  
  
He did, indeed, have a large and uncomfortable-looking tumor along his back under his skin.  
  
“I’m not running a vet clinic here.”  
  
“Last one,” she said.  
  
Amazing to watch. She created temporary metal parts to hold the skin open, told the tumor to disconnect itself, wove in patches that would dissolve when the skin healed.  
  
When we were done, I said, “Maybe second to last? That was pretty amazing.”  
  
She was grinning, washing up at my lab sink while I patted the drowsy pup.  
  
“You’re here a lot,” I said. Between dropping off arcane items, and the two pets, she’d been around at least weekly for two or three months.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Do you ever want to go someplace else?”  
  
She half turned and I watched her eyes read the set of my shoulders, the lack of tension in my hands and hips, the placement of my feet. A thought I’d been working on surfaced and, before she’d answered, I said, “You can’t read facial expressions, can you?”  
  
Hesitation. She looked at my shoulders again and said, “No.”  
  
“You can’t tell how I’m feeling? Or how anyone is?”  
  
“Sometimes, if it’s in a person’s posture or voice or energy. But you mask your energy so, no, I can’t tell with you except if you’re tense or not. Were you asking me to not come around as much or were you asking me to go somewhere with you?”  
  
“I like you. I want to go somewhere with you,” I said.  
  
Her face lit up. “Oh good.”  
  
“Tell me if this is over a line but you know enough to compensate for not reading faces, so what happened?”  
  
“Mojo replaced my eyes with sensors that read energy.” She said it in the same flat voice I’d heard from myself when I talked about Belasco.  
  
“Oh, okay,” I said and turned halfway back to my worktable, to let her know she didn’t have to say more than she was comfortable saying.  
  
Spiral explained, “I’ve tried to tweak them over the years so I can see subtle changes in people’s faces, but there’s a lot of energy in the face and I haven’t found a way to see both. It’s too late now to give up my energy sight. I can’t mod without it.”  
  
“You can always ask me how I feel. I might not know, but I’ll tell you if I don’t know.”  
  
She’d dried her hands and set the towel back on its hook, walked over to me, standing close but not quite facing me.  
  
“How do you feel?” she asked.  
  
“Nervous and kind of happy,” I said. “I haven’t gone anywhere with someone I liked in a long time. And, what do you do for fun anyway?”  
  
“You know I love music. I cook a lot. I have a little garden. Lately I’ve been trying to see if I can play video games with three controllers at the same time without modding my brain for it.”  
  
“I’d like to see that.”  
  
“You want to come over for dinner?” she asked.  
  
“Um, yes. What should I bring?”  
  
“Something to drink or something sweet. Tomorrow? Sixish?”  
  
“It’s a … date?”  
  
She grinned, picked up the dog, put her top wrists together and vanished. I went to the main building kind of in a daze. Storm was watching a bunch of computer monitors that showed the latest class falling all over themselves in the danger rooms.  
  
“Problem?” she asked when I walked in.  
  
“No, the exact opposite of a problem. I have a date.”  
  
Grey sauntered through the far doorway and said, “Who asked, you or Spiral?”  
  
“Me.”  
  
She sighed, pulled a bill out of her pocket and handed it to Storm. “Fine, you were right. Who had this week in the pool?”  
  
“Also me,” Storm said.  
  
I stared at her. “Shit, next time just tell me when I’m going to ask a girl out.”  
  
“If I had, you would have very deliberately picked another week and possibly another woman,” she said.  
  
“You’re both jerks,” I told the two of them, but my grin gave me away.  
  
#  
  
Spiral had a little house pretty far out in the country on an acre or so of wooded land. I guess when you have six arms, you can’t really plunk yourself down among the normals. But there were chickens in the yard. Chickens! I almost turned around and left because although I originally come from a farm (or probably because of it) I am not a chicken person. But I made myself go up and ring the bell and try to act casual.  
  
Spiral answered in loose pants and a sleeveless shirt, a dark blue bandana around her fine, white hair. Over her shirt was a white apron that said “I didn’t wash my hands.” I snickered, then laughed, then had to put a hand out to the doorway to steady myself because I was laughing too hard. She guided me into the house while taking the paper bag out of my hands and closing the door behind us, which did not help with my efforts to stop laughing. It was just the crazy domestic simplicity of that apron juxtaposed with having six hands to wash.  
  
I’d expected rustic farmhouse from the outside, but the interior was sleek and modern with futuristic nightclub elements. She put my bag on the counter and peeked inside, brought out the glass bottle.  
  
“I don’t cook,” I told her. “But I do distill. That’s for later, though. You can’t drink it on an empty stomach.”  
  
“What do you mix it with?”  
  
“Food.”  
  
“You don’t …”  
  
“There is only one way to drink vodka,” I told her.  
  
Wisely, she didn’t argue.  
  
We ate a huge meal. Mostly Italian but with a bit of pickled vegetables that made me especially happy. I showed her how to drink vodka and we got fairly buzzed. Maybe very buzzed.  
  
I was leaning back into her couch, listening to some trippy music that probably hadn’t been recorded on earth, enjoying the pickling of my own brain. She had an arm across the back of the couch, fingers just brushing my shoulder. I liked how we could be quiet. We’d talked through dinner but now it was time to sit and listen and be.  
  
And maybe, as more time passed, something else as well.  
  
“Spiral?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“If I were to kiss you, what are the chances of your kid walking in on us?”  
  
“Zero. She’s over at a friend’s tonight and knows to text first if she’s coming back here.” Spiral’s voice sounded about as relaxed, sleepy, lit and interested as mine did.  
  
“Did you tell her you had a date?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“What’d she say?” I asked.  
  
Spiral mimicked a lighter, younger voice: “‘Mom, do we need to have the sex talk?’”  
  
“Hah, did you?”  
  
“I asked where she’d start and she said ‘consent mechanics’ and I said ‘what the hell is that?’ So maybe I did need the sex talk.”  
  
I turned, still reclined, so I could see her better. She had her head resting on the back of the couch, top arms outstretched, middle arms loose, bottom arms with her hands in her lap. Her eyes were half-closed and without pupils, I couldn’t tell if she was looking back at me or not.  
  
“Speaking of the sex talk,” I said. “I have a question.”  
  
“Yes, all of me is modded but I'm hoping you won’t mind.”  
  
“Wow, that was not my question but that’s fun. I was still back at: _hey, so, you have six arms, what should I know about that_?”  
  
“Sorry, someone got me loaded on homemade vodka. The thing about my arms is I can’t lie on my side for very long, but that’s usually not an issue because I’m pretty good on the bottom or the top.”  
  
“That works for me. Are you too drunk to fuck because … oh crap, I’m saying ‘fuck’ and we haven’t even kissed, which means _I’m_ too drunk to fuck. I’ve turned into a lightweight.”  
  
“You can be too drunk to fuck?” she asked.  
  
I said, “Consent mechanics. If I’m not paying attention to what I’m saying, how do I know I can pay attention to what you’re saying?”  
  
She snorted. “Hah, Ginny would be so proud. Fair enough, no sex tonight, but how long are you going to keep talking before you kiss me?”  
  
I scooted down the couch, leaned in and kissed her. It was supposed to be a proper date-like kiss, but she tasted of vodka and metal and power. I was sitting across her lap before I knew how I got there, my hands tangled in her silky hair, two of her hands on my ass, two on my back, one on the back of my neck and the last holding onto the back of the couch for ballast.  
  
Much later, with three hands up under my shirt, she whispered, “If we keep going …”  
  
I had to agree. Three hands on the front of me and two on the back was very, very nice.  
  
I groaned and pulled away. “We need to each drink at least one glass of water if we don’t want to feel pummeled in the morning.”  
  
She lifted me off her lap. Lifted me. Four hands picked me up, her body rotated and I was on the couch next to her with my mouth hanging open. She grinned and went into the kitchen.  
  
“Did you drive?” she called back to me.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You want to stay in the guest room?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Then drinking water, washing up, staggering into the guest room and crawling into a perfectly firm bed with sheets of a delightfully high thread count. Sometime later I managed to take my pants off and kick them out from between the sheets.  
  
I got up early as I always do in a strange place and figured out how to make coffee. Her fridge was insane. Like a farmer’s market. Mine is a mini-fridge in the sanctum with two oranges and a mustard packet.

I hadn't bothered to put on my pants; stayed in my t-shirt, which was long enough to cover my underpants. The whole ensemble would be not completely awful if Ginny came home before Spiral got up, but pretty suggestive if Spiral saw me first.   
  
Spiral came out of her bedroom when I was almost done with my coffee. I pointed at the carafe but she shook her head. Her hair was loose and shimmery around the shoulders of her sleek silver-grey robe and she was not looking at the carafe, or the fridge, or anywhere other than me.   
  
She held out her middle right hand. I took it and let her pull me into a large bedroom. Of course if you have six arms, you’re going to be need a pretty big bed. Especially if you ever have guests in it.  
  
At the foot of the bed, she let go of my hand and dropped her robe.  
  
“Oh,” I said and, assuming the point was to look, I looked and looked some more. “Oh wow.”  
  
“That’s just what you can see now,” she said. “I change somewhat based on the situation. We good?”  
  
“We are _so_ good,” I said with fervor. “Now, how long are you going to keep talking before y—“  
  
She didn’t let me get the rest of the sentence out.  
  



	2. Hands Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks into the budding Illyana/Spiral relationship, they decide to experiment with a new configuration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once you know Spiral has modded her own genitals, you can't really stop there. (Oh and if you don't know what clitoral legs are: the clit is much bigger than it appears and extends quite some inches into the body.)

I was in a mood. Magic wasn’t going well and I had paperwork. I was stuck at school late, in the spare office for all the professors who don’t have their own. It’s a big room with desks and dividers. I didn’t much like it. I’d thought about teleporting the paperwork to my sanctum, but I didn’t want to sully that space with administration. Thought about teleporting it all to Limbo and tossing it into a lake of fire.  
  
I was still thinking about that when Spiral texted: _where are you?_  
  
_School. Was I supposed to come over?_  
  
_You’re always supposed to come over._  
  
I grinned, then frowned because I was pretty invested in being mad at the paperwork. I texted back: _paperwork._  
  
She didn’t reply and I went back to staring at a form I was supposed to fill out for who knew what reason, until I heard a startled yelp from the hall. Alarms didn’t ring. Disappointing.  
  
A shadow fell across the doorway. Spiral leaned in, holding a bunch of flowers—the kind that one could pick hastily from the front steps of the school.  
  
“I’m not really the flowers type,” I said.  
  
“They’re not for you. They were so the young ones won’t think I’m attacking the school while I figured out what room you were in.”  
  
“Ah, smart. I’m not done, though.”  
  
“How much do you have to do?” she asked, coming to stand beside me. She was in loose black pants and a blue hoodie that had six painted orange and red hand prints on it and said: _Best Mom, Hands Down!_ And she smelled like vanilla and machine oil.  
  
I wanted to my put hands up under her Hands Down hoodie, but instead pointed to various pages and said, “This page and this one and this one here, and probably those two.”  
  
“What do those columns mean?” she asked.  
  
“Fuck if I know.”  
  
“Hmm, that’s an idea. You finish this and …”  
  
“Not particularly in the mood,” I grumbled.  
  
She stepped behind me and leaned over, four hands on the desk, her arms around me like pillars, two hands on my back, her breath hot on the back of my neck. “What if you do this and then I’ll do all the work? Let me take care of you.”  
  
I shivered because the back of my neck is one of those places that can reduce me to warm jello, especially if teeth get involved, but managed to say evenly, “I’m listening.”  
  
“You haven’t seen everything I can do. Not even half. Just because I like the bottom doesn’t mean I always like it. Come home with me and I’ll make you forget all of this.”  
  
“Promise.”  
  
“Oh yes.”  
  
I held up two pens. “You fill in the top of this one and that one, I’ll do the columns.”  
  
She took the pens in a right hand and a left, picked up the two pages I’d indicated. She was right handed with her top two sets of hands and left handed with the bottom set. I thought the middle pair should be ambidextrous, but apparently it doesn’t work that way when you’re adding arms to a person.  
  
Even with her help, the paperwork took longer than I wanted. She teleported out to get sandwiches and brought them back. I ate mine grimly, glaring at empty boxes on paper.  
  
When I got it all done, I rubbed my eyes. “I want to lie down, but not in a sexy way.”  
  
“You want to sleep at your place?”  
  
“Nah, let’s go to yours. You have a better tub.”  
  
She wrapped four arms around me, joined her top wrists and teleported us back to her house. At least we didn’t have to drive.  
  
We appeared in her bathroom, which is huge because of having a tub and shower sized for a six-armed person. She turned on the tub and asked, “You want a drink?”  
  
“I want a pain-killer,” I said. “OTC, though, none of your weird ones.”  
  
She laughed and left the room.  
  
I yelled after her, “And nothing from space!”  
  
“Lightweight!” she yelled back.  
  
I stripped and got into the bath. By the time I was done soaking, I didn’t hurt and wasn’t as tired as I’d expected. Spiral came in as the water started to drain. I reached for a towel.  
  
“You want a hand with that?” she asked. “Or six?"  
  
I let her take the towel out of my hands and wrap it around me. She rubbed my shoulders, back, hips, then knelt and brought the towel down around my legs. Hands on the inside and outside of my legs, drying, rubbing, one stroking up the inside of my thigh.  
  
I murmured and opened my legs a little wider. She grinned up at me. “That looks like a yes.”  
  
I stepped back and teleported into her bed. She came through the doorway from the master bath laughing and leapt onto the bed. She was in the black pants and a sleeveless shirt, having taken off the hoodie. All her shoulders showed, so that as she crawled up the bed, and over me, she looked like a panther … well, a six-armed alien panther with shimmering eyes, but that’s the best kind.  
  
She had her hair back in a loose ponytail and I tugged it as I pulled her down to kiss. Holding herself up on four arms, she ran two hands over me until I was arching up to meet her touch, needing to feel more.  
  
“Will you let me built myself out for you?” she asked.  
  
I’d had sex with some interesting people, not all of them human, but that was a new one. “Meaning … what?”  
  
“Shape my external genitals to fit you,” she said and somehow—because she was on top of me and murmured it in my ear, or because she had three hands on me, one of them between my legs—she made that sound utterly hot.  
  
I said, “Mm, yeah,” and felt her grin against my cheek.  
  
She lifted herself off me and sat on the bed, cross-legged, saying, “It’s easiest if you start in my lap.”  
  
“Yab-yum style?”  
  
“It’s got ‘yum’ in it for a reason.”  
  
“Hah.”  
  
I climbed into her lap and wrapped my legs around her waist. Unless I’m in one of my demon forms, she’s about five inches taller than me, so this put us close to even and in a very good position for kissing, which we did.  
  
When we stopped to catch our breath, she said, “If you don’t like how this feels, say so.  But you don’t seem to mind my arms, so this shouldn’t be so different.”  
  
“I like your arms.”  
  
She looked sideways and down. “Most of my lovers, the ones I cared about anyway, tolerate them. Sometimes I could feel them flinch when I touched them with my third or fourth hand. You did the first time, but then you didn’t.”  
  
“I was just surprised. In my brain, for a second, I was trying to figure out where another person had come from. But you gave me that back rub, remember? That helped a lot. Your arms are beautiful.”  
  
She grumbled, “Like your tail?”  
  
“Touché.”  
  
She reached one of her lower hands between us and pressed her fingers against herself, and another hand, back to back with that first, so she could slide one finger into me. I moaned and leaned my forehead on her top shoulder. Part of me wanted this to be fast, and rough, and it didn’t seem that it would be.  
  
She slid another finger into me easily. Then moved her fingers apart slightly and something else joined them, feeling like a third finger only thinner and longer. Her fingers pulled out and that longish, warm, smooth presence grew thicker.  
  
“Show me,” I whispered, roughly, tilting my head so I could look down between us.  
  
Down there she’s already half metal: delicate silvery details, living metal, not at all cold. The way I’d seen her, the filigreed silver labia opened out and her clit had looked like a pink pearl set in the finest, lacy platinum. Now her clit was bigger, extending out, thicker, reminding me of a cobra and the curled tendril of a fern.  
  
Her fingers pressed her outer lips apart. Between those and the pink of her inner lips was sliver metal, no longer flat to her body. Two thick lines curled up, beginning near the top of her lips and extending to their mid-point, to join a line of metal coming out from her opening and flow into me.  
  
“You didn’t just extend your clit?” I managed to ask, though I was pretty short of breath.  
  
“I did. Twice. You can see the head above, but the part below, all that metal extends my clitoral legs into you.”  
  
“Oh. Oh gods that’s … how did you …?”  
  
“Decide that I should get to fuck anyone I want any _way_ I want?” she asked. “That is a long story. See, this way I can rub your clit with mine and fuck you with my clit and my vulva, my labia, my opening, everything. You like this?”  
  
“Love it.”  
  
“Ah, then you’re about to love it more.”  
  
She took her fingers away. The part of her inside of me had been thickening as she talked, but not extending. If I rocked back, I could see a dense silvery length that looked almost like a double dildo from inside her to inside me, except that it wasn’t only inside her opening, it built out from between her lips. I thought of the base of the Eiffel tower and of geodesic domes and stone formations in deep caves where the top and bottom meet.  
  
She put all her hands on my back and pulled me close to her. She increased inside me, pressed against the very sensitive place just inside me to the front. I sagged against her.  
  
“You like that,” she said. “I could go deeper but I think tonight that isn’t right. I want to go slow.”  
  
I nodded. She moved two hands under my ass, two to the bed, and tipped me backward until I was on my back with her on top of me.  
  
When she started to pull out, I understood how thick the part inside me had grown. It hurt just enough that I felt every bit of that dense roundness coming out of me. She stopped before she was all the way out and let the weight rest against me, then pushed in again. I arched, made sounds, grabbed the muscles of her middle arms and held on.  
  
She kept going in and out with maddening slowness. It felt unlike anything else I, or anyone else, had fucked me with. Not a hard length at all, hard enough but also soft, thick and heavy, full, very round so that its curves kept pushing me open and letting me close just enough to push me open again.  
  
“More?” she asked.  
  
“Wait,” I said, but when she started to pull out I made a, “Nnh” sound and gripped her arms harder.  
  
She laughed and kissed above my heart. “Yes and no, you want it and you don’t.”  
  
“Want it,” I panted. “And want to see.”  
  
“Ahh, here.” She put one hand on my mons, pressing down toward my clit, giving enough sensation that I could relax and allow her to slide all the way out of me.  
  
I rose up on my elbows, curiosity warring with need. All the metal in and around her lips, her opening, came to a thick trunk, not long, no more than two inches. Then the trunk widened into a shape like a large egg with a ridge over its top, front.  
  
I touched the ridge, “This. I’m feeling this.”  
  
Her eyelids fluttered. “Me too. Those are …,” she was breathing hard as I ran my finger along the ridge, “the extensions.”  
  
“These are your clit’s legs?” I asked, exchanging finger for thumb so I could press a little.  
  
Her head rocked back. “Ahh, yes.”  
  
I curled my hand around the whole orb, stroking with fingers and thumb. “You can feel all of this.”  
  
She groaned and thrust into my hand. “Can I? … You? More?”  
  
I took my hand away. “Oh yes.”  
  
She grinned at me and down at herself. Her fingers spread her outer labia again and another layer of metal arose, outside of the orb’s trunk, two ridges of silver. “For yours,” she said, and I knew she meant these would fit against me, press into the space between my lips and give pressure to my clit’s legs. I nodded.  
  
She put two fingers under her clit, another hand grasping it with fingertips and milking it slowly. Dense, shimmery liquid came out, caught by her fingers, that she rubbed over the surface of her orb.  
  
“Heaven,” I said. “This is definitely heaven. Why not have your orb lubricate?”  
  
“Orb, I like that. The way muscles are, this was easier.”  
  
I made an impatient grunt and she leaned over me again, that heavy roundness pressing my lips apart, stretching me wide as she entered. Now she didn’t pull out as far, only rocked back enough that the weight alternated between spreading me wider and rubbing against the most sensitive spots inside me.  
  
The head of her clit had come out far enough to touch mine while she rocked inside me. Little bursts of wet kept running down from it. Her extra labia extended between mine, pressed against me enough to send deep thrums of pleasure up my clit while her head rubbed mine, and from the inside the full heaviness of her orb stroked me—so that all parts of my clit were touched by all parts of hers.  
  
I didn’t so much come as I went … beyond everything except her body and mine. I saw nothing. I forgot words—all of them.  
  
For eternities, I did not think. I was and I felt perfect.  
  
I returned from the warm, blissful darkness because she was coming, her sounds rising in volume and pace, her rocking inside me taking on a new intensity, a purposefulness. Sound and motion climbing together. At the peak, the dribbles of wet from her clit had become a steady stream, hot over me. Her whole body shuddered, including the parts inside of me.  
  
That shudder went through me and split my self open.  
  
I was shouting, arching up, gripping her back, legs around her to keep her against me—and without pause the shout turned into sobbing. Deep and wracking, joy and wonder and awe, shock at being opened like that, grief at having to come back from that place of pure being, so much grief for me, for her and what had been done to her, gratitude for what she’d made herself into.  
  
She had been taken from her life and then taken apart. Mojo broke her mind again and again, but he couldn’t destroy her. He’d taken her humanity. She’d been made to do things she hated, made into something she hated, and sometimes made to do awful things she enjoyed. Fallen in love with her madness and hatred and rage—and hated herself for what she'd become. I knew how that felt.  
  
She’d been made to kill and learned to want it, and maybe, some days, unlearned that. And yet here, on her own, she had built herself for pleasure—and not only her own. She’d wanted to—asked to—build herself to fit me, to be exactly what my body wanted. She’d turned some of the horrors of her life into strengths.  
  
I wanted to know how to do that.  
  
She held me until I’d cried myself out.  
  
“That bad, huh?” she asked, her smile making the words round.  
  
“You were right,” I whispered, and the words came out hoarse, which meant I’d yelled more than I thought. “I forgot.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Don’t know. Can’t remember. It worked.”  
  
She lifted on her arms and pulled out of me very slowly, but it didn’t hurt at all. Nothing could hurt now. Not for a while at least.  
  
“Can you … leave that out?” I asked. “In a while, I’d like to get my tongue more acquainted with this configuration of you.”  
  
“Oh, absolutely. It folds up for wearing pants.” She demonstrated by drawing the trunk more into her body, so the orb rested partly between her lips. It had also gotten smaller than a minute ago.  
  
I wondered if it got smaller still, because then I could put all of her in my mouth.  
  
  



End file.
